Lost
by potterbite
Summary: Post Neverland, but pre new curse. Emma gets depressed when they return from Neverland.


**A/N: This came to me and I just went with it. I figured Neverland is probably really intense and stressful and emotional and a bunch of other things. Depression is a thing that can come from this, so I figured why not? There is no talk about suicide of any sort, and no concious self harm. And I promise no blood! Just a bunch of feelings. Hope you guys enjoy it, and don't hesitate to review! :)**

**Oh, and the movie with Colin Firth is Bridget Jones' diary. Love that movie!**

* * *

_Ouch I have lost myself again_

_Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,_

_Yeah I think that I might break_

_I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe_

Sia – Breathe me

* * *

When they got back from Neverland, everyone was still in kind of a blur to Emma; it had started when she had put Henry's heart back in his body. A dizziness to her eyes, making those around her shapeless, appeared the instant Henry started to breathe again.

She did not mention it to anyone, and acted as if though everything were fine.

The very next day, she started having palpitations and it hurt pretty bad at night.

She did not mention it.

The following day, she realized she did not feel happy about being back in Storybrooke – _at all_. She could not bring herself to care.

She did not mention it.

After a week home, she stopped leaving her room and started to ignore Mary Margret, David and Henry. Both Hook and Neal had come by at one point but Emma had refused to see them, making David send them away when she did not say anything at all.

A logical part of her brain knew she was worrying them, and making them feel helpless but she could not bring herself to care, even though she knew she really should.

When Henry had tried to talk to her, she had started to cry with too much anxiety in her body and he had to leave.

She had not slept more than a single hour per night since they got back.

She was tired.

This was when she started thinking; _I probably should have mentioned something_.

* * *

Killian was walking down the street late in December – just over a month since they got back – intent on talking some sense into Swan. He hadn't seen her around since their return, which made him increasingly convinced she was making a point to ignore him.

Well, he did have an alternative to why he had not seen her, but he did not allow it to be a plausible theory – at first.

It frustrated him.

Long overdue of his weekly dose of Emma, his heart beat at a fast and steady rhythm, skipping a beat every other hour.

He wasn't sure what he had done to make her back away so quickly; he thought they had gotten along pretty well in Neverland. That he actually had a shot with her.

Then he had gone to see her – at the same time as Baelfire, bloody luck – but they had both been turned down by David, who just said she did not want to see either of them.

Killian noticed the look in his eyes and the tension of his shoulders, so his other theory started to make sense.

When she did not show up for work for the next two weeks, his worry increased, which was why he now was on his way over to their home.

He knocked on the front door of the Charming's apartment, perhaps a little too loudly. The prince opened, and sighed when he saw who it was.

"I told you, she doesn't want to see you, mate."

"Aye. And I want to see her," Killian responded as he put his hand on the door to push it wide open, but he did not enter. "Please?"

Something about Killian's pleading convinced the prince and he stepped aside to allow him inside where Mary Margret and Henry was cooking dinner.

"Hey!" Henry greeted the pirate happily. "Want to stay for dinner?"

His heart swelled.

"Ah – no, thank you laddie. I'm here to try to communicate with your mother."

At the mention of Emma, he saw a notable stiffness spread amongst his company. He raised his eyebrows at them. "Can you point me in the right direction, mate?"

David pointed and Killian gave a slight nod before he headed towards Emma's room. He braced himself before he opened without knocking.

It was empty.

He flew out of the apartment, not bothering to answer the questions in Mary Margaret, David or Henry's eyes.

* * *

Her mind wasn't working properly, she thought in the back of her head as she walked. The voice was very quiet, though, so it was easy to ignore it, to push it back where she hoped it would stay.

She had climbed out from her window and taken the fire escape to reach the ground, not fully thinking about why she were leaving her home in December, two days after the most powerful snow storm in 30 years, wearing nothing but a thin nightgown.

It wasn't as if she were trying to do something reckless or stupid. Not consciously. But maybe that was just it – maybe she wasn't even fully conscious, and more like a zombie, walking aimlessly.

As she treaded in the thick snow along the main street with nothing on her feet at all, she thought about the increasing pain as the numbness started to come from the cold. How the pain of the moment made her forget all other pain and anxiety and regrets she had. How the pain felt welcoming, almost like warmth spreading through her body even though it was freezing outside.

She embraced it – savored it – and continued to walk slowly in the nine inches deep snow without really having a targeted destination.

The street was silent and made her comfortable. Families were probably sitting down right at that very moment, eating their dinner and sharing stories about their day.

_No_, she thought weakly in a protest as a sharp pain washed over her at the thought of old memories and wishes; she tried to focus more on how she couldn't feel her feet or legs moving under her.

It seemed to work until she reached the harbor and no longer had anywhere to turn unless she decided to go back. No, going back was not an option. The past was evil and nothing good ever came out of it.

As fast as her legs were willing to move – which by now weren't even at a pace at all but more like crawling on two legs – she limped out to the far end of the pier and took a deep breath when she stopped.

That, however, proved to be a grave mistake as it allowed her mind a moment of weakness, and in less than a second, memories of her life in solitude came crashing at her, and she was powerless to do anything but let her mind take control.

When she was three, her foster dad told her they never wanted her but took her in because they thought they couldn't have children of their own. When her foster mum got pregnant, they threw Emma back like she was nothing to them, like she wasn't a child they'd been raising and loving for the last two years.

No, love was just an illusion because nobody had ever loved her.

Just like Neal had practically thrown her to jail. Love was a word he had used as well. Love was nothing but poison in Emma's life, sucking the life out of her just when she thought she could have it all and that people wanted her.

Just like she wanted her parents to want her, just for one single perfect moment. Love wasn't something you sent away, especially not a small baby inside a strange wardrobe. Love wasn't spending nights alone on the street as a teenager. Love wasn't having to steal from others who probably needed the food as well. Love wasn't being alone for every single moment of her life. Love wasn't –

Outwardly, Emma did not say anything.

Inside, she screamed so loud it deafened her.

* * *

When Killian had started to fear his other theory was the reason for Emma's absence, he started to look up information; he went to the hospital to talk to some nurses and a doctor and he went to the library to ask Belle which books he should read. Everyone thought he was asking for himself, or for some mystical reason, but nobody suspected it was for Emma.

While he had sat there reading symptoms, he had recognized himself so well. All those years seeking nothing but revenge, heartbroken.

Yes, depression was a tricky thing – that much he had learnt. He also learned that it was treatable, to his great relief.

However, when he saw Emma wasn't at home, all those texts about the disease he had read came flying at him and his heart skipped more than one beat as he prayed his worst conclusion was just that – a silly assumption that would never ever come true – and not reality.

Somehow, he knew where to find her but when he finally reached the docks and saw her, he was everything else but calm.

There she stood, an angel of the sea, wearing almost nothing and with skin terrifyingly blue in the moonlight. It took all willpower he had to not run straight up to her, but instead to call out her name when he got closer; he didn't want to frighten her into something.

"Emma!" he called out, and saw it as a small victory that she flinched at her name because it meant she was still there. "Emma, love, how are you?" he asked her as he kept moving closer to her. This time, she didn't react to his words at all.

When he reached her – after what seemed like an eternity – he stopped next to her, careful not to stand too close. Cautiously, he put his hand on her shoulder to turn her so she faced him; her body agreed. He had to suffocate a gasp when he saw the look in her eyes; it was as if there weren't anybody there at all, just a body with nothing inside it. He wanted to shake her, do anything to just get a reaction from her, so he did the only thing he could think of that would not hurt her.

He took her hand, placed it over his own heart and prayed she would notice his strong heartbeat.

They stood there for a few minutes, with Killian coming closer and closer to the moment where he would whisk her up and run straight through town with her in his arms to reach the hospital and beg them to help her, to warm her up, to give her some medication. He knew she would want to fight first if she had been her usual self, which was why he kept waiting, deciding five minutes were his limit before he thought she might freeze to death.

Her hand was frighteningly cold on his chest and she looked so small he just wanted to tuck her in a warm bed and never leave her side. He was panicky about what would happen if Emma were not okay after this, so his hand traveled up to her hair and twirled it around his fingers, and he was almost not aware of his actions.

That was when she stirred as if she'd been woken up in the middle of the night after a nightmare. Immediately, her teeth started to chatter violently and she looked up and met his eyes. He let out a big breath as he relaxed a bit before he opened up his big jacket and took her in as if he were giving her a hug, effectively holding her inside the warm leather.

He didn't move until he was sure she was warmer.

* * *

Slowly, the little voice in the back of her head started talking again, and reminded her of seeing a similar scene in a movie she'd watched some years ago; she remembered because Colin Firth as any Darcy was hard to forget.

She felt something confusing in the right corner of her lips, and reached up to touch it only to realize it was a small hint to a smile.

"I think I should go home now," Emma said in a quiet voice after who knew how long. Her voice felt like a stranger to her, not having spoken for weeks. She did not protest when he shrugged of his jacket and put it over her shoulders, put his arm across her shoulders and started to lead her without so much as a word.

"No, wait," he said, suddenly coming to a halt. "Scream."

"I – what?"

"Scream at the top of your lungs."

"Why?"

"It's supposed to help release something helpful, called endolphins," he explained.

"You mean endorphins?" Emma asked, and could feel that same pull of the corner of her lips.

"Aye, that's what I said. Now scream."

She hesitated.

"I'll scream with you," he said and took her hand in his and they screamed as loud as they could. When the air in their lungs was all emptied out, a silence settled and it was as if a gate had opened from the screaming because Emma started crying, raw emotions with no stopping. Killian took her in his arms again, this time for a real hug, and held her while she wept.

She weren't sure if it felt good or bad, but she knew she _felt_. The numbness was still there, along with her sadness, and her anxiety and her regrets, but finally there was something else there.

_Hope_.


End file.
